THIS    VOLUME   IS    PRESENTED   TO 
THE    LIBRARY    BY 

LLOYD    MIFFLIN 

COLUMBIA, 

LANCASTER   COUNTY,   PA. 


GIFT   OF 


3.  Ibouston  rtMfttfn 


Z.  Coates  &  Co. 
pbllabelpbia 
1900 


LYRICS 


385194 


Copyright,  /poo 

HENRY    T.    COATES    &    CO. 
All  rights  reserved 


TO  THE  READER 
(FROM  THE  ORIGINAL  EDITION) 

THIS  little  volume  is  not  published,  but  is 
presented  to  the  friends  of  the  author  as  a  slight 
memento  of  kind  feeling,  which  he  is  confident 
will  be  reciprocated  by  indulgent  criticism. 

Some  of  the  verses  in  this  collection  have  ap- 
peared in  print  before,  in  Souvenirs  or  in  Maga- 
zines ;  most  of  them,  however,  are  the  "  lays  of 
his  boyhood,"  and  recall  to  the  writer  the 
moments  of  idleness  which  they  so  pleasantly,  if 

not  profitably,  employed. 

J.  H.  M. 

PHILADELPHIA, 
Oct.  fst,  1835. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

To  THE  SPIRIT  OF  POESY 1 

"FAR  I  WANDER" 2 

"Tiio'  ON  SAVANNAH'S  SUNNY  SHORE"  .  .  4 

THE  TWILIGHT  WALK 6 

"I  PASSED  ONE  GORGEOUS  EVENING"  ...  8 

,"NAY,  WARN  ME  NOT" 11 

FOREBODINGS 13 

To  MARIAN 15 

THE  SOLACE  OF  NATURE   ....      17 

To  A  LADY 21 

THE  STORM 23 

To  A  PORTRAIT  OF  A  LADY 25 

THE  WILD  SWAN 27 

To  A  MAJESTIC  TREE 29 

A  MEMORY 31 

"On,  WAS  IT  IN  A  LAND  OF  DREAMS"    .   .  33 

THE  NAMELESS  STAR 35 

THE  EARLY  DEAD 38 

LOST  HOURS 41 


vii 


CONTENTS 

PAGK 

THE  WOODLAND  WALK 43 

REVISITED 45 

IN  YOUTH 48 

THE  CONJUNCTION  OF  Two  PLANETS  ....  50 

DEATH 52 

ON  PRESENTING  A  ROSE 53 

To  A  MINIATURE 55 

"WHENE'ER  I  THINK  How  BRIEF "  ....  56 

*'I  THINK  OF  THEE" 58 

To  A  LADY  SINGING 59 

THE  POET 61 

"I  COULD  HAVE  BORNE » 62 

THE  RIVER 64 

"MY  OWN  FAMILIAR  NAME" 68 

REGRET 70 

NOTE                                                           ....  73 


viii 


PREFACE 

J.  Houston  Mifflin,  the  author  of  these  Lyrics, 
was  born  in  1807  and  died  in  his  eighty -second 
year.  He  was  descended  on  the  paternal  side 
from  Friends  who  came  from  Wiltshire,  Eng- 
land, in  1679,  and  settled  upon  ground  now 
included  in  Fairmount  Park,  Philadelphia. 

Mr.  Mifflin  was  educated  at  the  Friends'  West- 
town  Academy,  and  then  entered,  as  a  student, 
the  Pennsylvania  Academy  of  The  Fine  Arts, 
and  afterwards  pursued  his  study  of  art  in  Europe 
in  conjunction  with  the  American  artists,  Healy, 
Fraser,  and  DeVeaux. 

Returning  to  America  in  1837  Mr.  Mifflin 
painted  portraits  for  some  years,  chiefly  in  the 
cities  of  the  South  Atlantic  States,  where  most  of 
his  works  remain.  He  married  in  the  North  in 
1844,  but  the  great  delicacy  of  his  wife's  health 
— which  increased  rather  than  diminished  during 
all  of  her  subsequent  life — caused  him  to  relin- 
quish his  profession  in  order  to  devote  himself 
entirely  to  her  welfare  and  that  of  their  children. 


Thus  suddenly  ended,  when  it  had  really  but  be- 
gun, his  career  as  a  portrait  painter.  Of  this 
abandonment  of  all  his  cherished  dreams  of  suc- 
cess— of  this  silent  tragedy,  for  tragedy  it  was — 
Mr.  Mifflin  never  spoke,  but  doubtless  he  made 
the  sacrifice  gladly. 

Thus  the  author  of  these  poems,  who  might 
have  contributed  his  share  to  the  portraiture  of 
his  day,  was  debarred  in  his  prime  from  that  dis- 
tinction, and  passed  the  remaining  two  score 
years  of  his  life  in  the  unartistic  precincts  of  a 
country  town.  A  town,  however,  which  was 
not  unappreciative  of  his  qualities  of  mind  and 
heart ;  of  that  there  was  always  touching  evi- 
dence in  the  genuine  regard  paid  him  on  every 
hand. 

Mr.  Mifflin' s  character  was  quite  unique  in  its 
contrariety  of  elements.  To  that  courtliness  of  a 
gentleman  of  the  old  school — the  distinguished 
bearing,  and  the  polished  politeness  to  women — 
he  added  at  times  in  his  intercourse  with  men, 
fiery  outbursts  of  indignation  and  vehement  de- 
nunciation, to  be  followed,  perhaps,  by  a  manner 
that  was  almost  feminine  in  its  winsomeness,  yet 
which  was  without  a  trace  of  effeminacy. 


PREFACE 

Though  Mr.  Mifflin  lived  for  more  than  fifty 
years  after  the  publication  of  this  his  first  volume, 
he  wrote  no  more  verse  ;  indeed  he  never  referred 
to  his  own  poems.  He  was  too  great  a  lover  of 
the  best  in  literature  to  overrate  the  productions 
of  his  youth  ;  and  he  remained  through  life  a 
devotee — a  passionate  lover  of  poetry.  His  mind 
was  filled  with  the  creations  of  the  masters,  and 
he  delighted  till  the  end  in  his  Shakespeare  ;  at 
eighty  declaiming  with  enthusiasm  the  fine 

passages  that  he  loved. 

E.  S.  B. 

PHILADELPHIA,  PA., 

May,  1900. 


TO  THE  SPIRIT  OF  POESY 

SPIRIT  serene,  that  ever  com'st  to  me 

With  soul-refreshing,  purifying  power, 
Teach  me  the  language  I  may  speak  to  thee, 

Here  in  the  holy  hush  of  evening's  hour. 
Then  let  me  tell  how  once  I  burned  to  grace 

Thy  forehead  with  some  lyric  trophy  meet, 
And  now  regret  that  I  can  only  place 

A  garland  so  unworthy  at  thy  feet ! 


"FAR   I    WANDER" 

SONG 

I 

FAR  I  wander,  maiden,  yet 

Be  it  e'er  so  far, 
Never  shall  my  heart  forget 

Thee  and  thy  guitar. 
Was  the  ear  delighted  most 

By  that  voice  of  thine, 
Or  the  eye  by  all  the  boast 

Of  thy  charms  divine? 
If  we  listened  to  thy  strain, 

Eyes  refused  to  see, 


And  to  hear  it  was  in  vain, 
If  we  looked  at  thee  ! 

ii 
On  the  sunny  hills  of  Spain, 

In  Italia' s  clime, 
Still  shall  music's  sweet  refrain 

Bring  me  back  the  time, 
When  thy  voice  within  my  heart 

Such  an  echo  found, 
It  has  now  become  a  part 

Of   all  lovely  sound  ! 
Far  I  wander,  maiden,  yet 

Be  it  e'er  so  far, 
I'll  remember  and  regret 

Thee  and  thy  guitar. 


«THO'  ON  SAVANNAH'S  SUNNY  SHORE" 

SONG 

I 

THO'    on   Savannah's   sunny   shore 

An   earlier  flower  may   blow, 
And   nature   here   her   vernal   store 

With   richer   hand   bestow  ; 
The   stranger   by   your   glancing   stream 

With   pensive   step   may   roam, 
Yet   dearer   far   that   river   deem 

That   freezes   near   his   home. 

ii 
In   vain   yonr   rich   luxuriant   groves 

May   breathe   the   blandest   air 
That   filled   with   fragrance   idly   roves 


"THO'  ox  SAVANNAH'S  SUNNY  SHORE" 

And   wantons   everywhere  ; — 
In   vain   your   sweet   melodious   bird 

Its   soul   in  song   may  pour, — 
Yet   by   the   stranger   is   preferred 

His  wind-swept   forest's  roar. 

in 
But   not   in   vain   the   glorious  eyes 

That   light   your   southern   clime, 
And   brighter   than   your   sunny   skies, 

Make   ever   suinmer-time  ! 
And   not   in   vain   the   kindly  hearts 

That   welcome   those   who   roam  ; 
From   these   with   pangs    the    stranger   parts 

As   from   a   native   home  ! 

AUGUSTA,  GEORGIA, 

April,  1835. 


THE  TWILIGHT  WALK 

NOT  in   the   lighted  halls  of'  social   mirth, 
Nor  'mid  the  splendours  of  rejoicing  day, 

But  in  the  sweetest  solitude  of  earth, — 
In  the  cool  quiet  of  the  evening's  ray 

Thou  com'st  to  me,  sweet  Spirit  !  like  the  dew 
Descending  softly  on  the  fainting  flower, 

With  heaven-refreshing  influence  to  renew 
The  withered  feelings  of  a  happier  hour. 

Then,    all   forgetful   of   a   sordid   race, 

And   from   my   baser   self   awhile   set   free, 


THE   TWILIGHT   WALK 

The  paths  of  purest  pleasure   I   retrace 

And   wander  near  an   angel's  side — by  thee. 

If  I  forget  thee  in  the  haunts  of  men, 

And  to  their  soulless  aims  my  thoughts  resign, 

In  the  dim  gloaming  come  to  me  again, 

And  lead  me  gently  to  that  world  of  thine  ! 


I  PASSED  ONE  GORGEOUS  EVENING 

I  passed  one   gorgeous   evening 

As   day   began   to   pale, — 
Beside   a   woodland   lakelet 

Within   a   lonely   vale. 

Its   shores   were   fringed   with   willows, 
And  many   a  flower  was  seen 

Above  the  placid  mirror 

That   showed   the   sky   serene ; 

How   often  since   I   left  it, 

That  quiet  little  lake 
Has   heard   the   storm   above  it 

In   peals   of    thunder   break  ; 


"I   PASSED   ONE   GORGEOUS  EVENING' 

The   summer  (lower   has   vanished, 
The   willows  lost   their  glow, 

In   ice   has   winter   bound   it 
And  prisoned  it   in   snow. 

But   through   the   changing   seasons, 
In   bright   or   cloudy   day, 

To   me   a   lake  of  summer 
It   evermore   will   stay  : 

And   once   in   gladsome   boyhood 

I   knew   a   careless   child 
With   rosy   cheek   and   gentle   heart,  - 

How   joyous   and   how   wild  ! 

How   often   since   that   moment 
Her  voice  has   rung  with   glee, — 


'I  PASSED   ONE   GORGEOUS   EVENING' 

How   lovely   is   her    beauty 
May   not   be  sung  by   me  ! 

In  sunshine  or  in    shadow 

Her  pathway   may   have   passed  ; 

I   only   see   the   maiden 
Who   bounded  by   me  last. 


10 


"NAY,  WARN   ME  NOT' 

NAY,    warn  me  not   of  witching  eyes 
With   looks   that   fascinate   the    while, 

Nor,    smiling,    tell   what   danger   lies 
In   half  so   dangerous   a   smile  ! 

Thy  warbling   lips   but   vainly   seek 
The  roused   passion  to  control, 

When   every   syllable  they   speak 
Is   madness   to   the   burning  soul  ! 

Thus   haply   may   the   siren   sing 
The   dangers   of   her   dreadful   rock, 

In   melody   too   sure   to   bring 

The   listening   mariner   to   the   shock. 


"NAY,  WARN  ME  NOT" 

Too   late   the   warning   note   to   heed 
When   once   within   the   vortex   tossed : 

Who   ventures   near   thee — Heaven   speed  ! 
His  hearing  or  his  heart   is  lost  ! 


FOREBODINGS 

FAIREST  !    I   fear  that   years   of  vain  regret 
For  these  neglected  hours  are  stored  for  me, 

When   I   shall   deeply   mourn   that  e'er  I  met, 
Or  meeting,  then  could  ever  part  from  thee. 

\Vhen   I    shall   wander   far   in   other   climes 
And  gaze  on  eyes  almost  as  bright  as  thine, 

And  hear   sweet   voices   that   shall   bring  these 

times 
But  not  their  freshness,  to  this  soul  of  mine: 

How   humbled  then,   in   bitterness  of   heart, 
For  one  dear  hour  like   this,   would  I  forego 


18 


FOREBODINGS 


The   range   of  nature   and   the   love   of   art, — 
All  wealth  can  give,  or  fame  herself  bestow! 

When   gasping   faint,    where   mighty  minds  re- 
spired, 

Faltering,     where     genius     once     triumphant 
trode, — 

The  dust  still  hallowed,  and  the   air   yet  fired, 
As  round  their  god-like  visitants  it  glowed, — 

How  shall   my   long-desponding  heart   despair, 

And   turn   from   trophies   that   can    ne'er    be 
mine  ; 

And,  when  thy  life  it  is  too  late  to  share, 
Long  for  the  quiet  of  a  grave  near  thine. 


TO   MARIAN 

WHO   FOREBODED   A   DECAY   OF   FEEDING 

SHALL  Spring  again   her  glories  shower 
Profusely  on  the  laughing  earth, 

And   I   not   feel  for   mead   or   flower 
A   genial   sympathy   of  mirth  ? 

Shall   all   the  groves  their  gladness  pour, 
The  skies  in  all  their   splendour   blaze, 

And   I   exult   to   hear   no   more, — 
Nor  longer  kindle  as  I  gaze  ? 

And,    Marian,    shall   thy   radiant  form 
Float   beauteously   before   my   view, 


TO   MARIAN 

And   I   not   feel   my   bosom   warm, 
And   worship   then,    as   now   I   do  ? 

Thy   smile   will   fade,    thou  dar'st   to   say, 
And  e'en  thine  eye  no  more  be  bright, — 

Oh,  long  before  that   dismal   day, 

Death  !    darken  all   my   days   in   night  ! 


16 


THE  SOLACE  OF  NATURE 
/  dolci  colli  ov1  io  lasciai  me  stesso. — PETBARCA 

I 
If  in  strange  cities  thou  shouldst  wander  lone,— 

A  lost  intruder  in  a  crowded  street, 
Whom  none  may  care  for,   and  who  cares  for 

none, 

Since  there  no  form  familiar  he  may  greet, 
No  heart  in  unison  with  his  to  beat, — 

And  thou  art  sad,  as  memory  retraces 
Sweet    distant    scenes — than   ever,    now,    more 

sweet, — 

And  the  fond  look  of   well-remembered  faces 
Which  gave  the   dearest  charm   that  hallowed 
those  loved  places: 


17 


THE  SOLACE   OF   NATURE 
II 

Then,  if  thy  heart  revolting  with  disdain 

Spurns  at  the  low  pursuits  of  half  mankind, 
And  flies  communion,  lest  its  sordid  chain 

Within  their  prison  should  thy  spirit   bind — 
Turn  from  the  market-place  of  men,  and  find 

In  the  fair  fields,  the  solace  that  forever 
Flows  with  renewing  freshness  for  the   mind — 

A  fountain  gushing  from  the  glorious  giver — 

Bright  stream!  a  soul-restoring  and  triumphant 
river  ! 

in 
Rush  to  the  hills  and  from  their  heights  survey 

The  face  of  nature,  still  serenely  fair  ! 
She  smiles  upon  thee  as  in  childhood's   day, 

When  thou  wast   smiling — for  thou  knew'st 
no  care — 


is 


THE  SOLACE  OF  NATURE 

Far  other  look  thine  altered  brow  may  wear, 

Yet  hers  is  still  the  same,  and  still  her  voice 
Breathes  its  familiar  notes  upon  the  air, 

As    when    her    groves    melodious    were    thy 
choice, 

And    bade    thee    fervently,    as    now    they   do, 
rejoice. 

IV 

Rejoice  !  with  silver  step  the  laughing  stream 
To  its  own  music  dances  on  its  way ; 

The  grain-field  glitters  in  the  summer  beam, 
While  breezes  o'er  its  golden  ocean  play ; 

The  birds  bid  welcome  with  mellifluous  lay  ; 

The    groves    invite    thee    to    their    shadowy 
deep — 

Here    by    the   flow 'ring    pathway    mayst    thou 
stray, 


19 


THE  SOIyACB  OF  NATURE 


Or  climb  the  rock  and  lofty  mountain-steep, 

And    there,    on    high,    thy    solitary   commune 
keep. 

v 
Rejoice  that  such  a  lovely  world  is  given, 

So  full  of  beauty,  to  delight  thine  eye. 
But  more   rejoice   thee   that   indulgent   Heaven 

Bestowed  a  soul  its  beauty  to  descry — 
Reflecting  all  the  joy  of  earth  and  sky  ! 

Thy    cheek    upon    her    breast — secure    from 
harms — 

The  world's  indifference  thou  canst  all  defy. 
Child  of  her  heart  !  adorer  of  her  charms  ! 

Nature    receives    thee    with    a     parent's     open 
arms  ! 


TO   A   LADY 

ABOUT   TO   SIT   FOR   HER   PORTRAIT 

I 

Oh,  do  not  mock  the  pencil's  power, 
Nor  bid  the  artist  feebly  trace 
An  image  of  ethereal  grace, 
A  shade  of  thy  celestial  face, 

Still  varying — lovelier  every  hour  ! 

ii 

Deep  in  the  holy  haunted  cell 

Of  poet's  thought,  and  painter's  mind, 
From  vulgar  gaze  forever  shrined, 
Beings  that  leave  the  day  behind, 

In  soft  mysterious  twilight  dwell. 


TO  A   LADY 
III 

Their  beauty  language  fails  to  catch, 

Their  forms,  that  float  like  clouds  in  heaven 
Or  play  as  waves  in  tints  of  even 
O'er  pebbly  shores  by  breezes  driven, 

No  pencilled  hues  nor  shapes  can  match  ! 


22 


THE  STORM 

Swift  to  the  topmost  crag  I  sped, 
And  felt  the  rain  beat  on  my  head  ; 
The  thunder  bellowed  through  the  sky, 
And  lightning  flashed  incessant  by  ; 
The  clouds  that  canopied  the  heaven 
Seemed  by  the  dreadful  uproar  riven, 
And  through  the  transient  chasm  showed 
The  glory  that  behind  them  glowed, 
As  tho'  the  God  of  storms  were  there, 
And  his  attending  angels  were 
Enrobed  in  drapery  of   night, 
And  armed  with  lightnings  and  with  might. 
Upon  the  rock  I  sat,  and  hoped 


THE   STORM 

Some  fatal  arrow,  error-sloped, 
Might  glance  from  off  its  cloudy  targe 
And  free  my  spirit  of  its  charge. 
I  thought  at  last  that  thus  my  soul 
Would   speedier   find   its   wished- for   goal  ; 
Loosed  in  the  midst  of  storms,  it  might 
Take  to  itself  the  shaft  of  light,— 
For  it  a  bright  ethereal  wing, — 
At  once  to  realms  above   to  spring  ! 
Vain  was  the  wish  !     The  flash  went  by  ; 
Death  hovered  near  me  in  the  sky, 
But  on  my  heart  he  would  not  fling 
The  awful  shadow  of  his  wing. 

COLUMBIA,   PA., 


24 


TO   A   PORTRAIT 

OF   BEATRICE   CENCI 

Wast  thou  a  being  of  an  earth-born  race, 

Or  but  descended  from  some  radiant  sphere, 
When  Guido  saw  the  seraph  in  thy  face 

And  gave  thee  to    the    world,    unchanging, 

here  ? 

If  thou  wast  mortal — and  we  know  thy  lot 
Was  one  of  sorrow  in  this  sorrowing  spot — 

His   touch    translated    thee,    and   thou    wast 

caught 
Up  to  the  heaven  of  genius  in  the  glow 

Of  thy  celestial  beauty,  with  the  thought 
Of  angels  throned  upon  thy  tranquil  brow, 


25 


TO   A   PORTRAIT 

And  woman's  tenderness  within  thine  eyes, 
All  sorrow  pitying,  but  all  pain  above  ; 

We  claim  for  earth,  yet  know  thee  of  the  skies, 
And  while  we  worship  can  not  help  but  love  ! 


THE  WILD  SWAN 

I  saw  on  the  breast  of  a  beautiful  river 

That  reflected  the  green  of  the  hill,— 
While  scarce  to  the  sunbeam   it    gave   a  slight 
quiver, 

For  the  breath  of  the  morning  was  still, — 
A   bird,    with   a   breast  than   the  drifted  snow 
whiter, 

Serenely  and  silently  glide, 
And  give  to  the  waters  an  image  still  brighter, — 

Seeming  Peace  upon  Pleasure's  fair  tide. 
Still  on,  like  the  Solitude's  spirit  it  glided, 

When,  a  stranger  intruding  too  near, 


27 


THE   WILD    SWAN 

Uprising,  its  wings  the  light  ether  divided, 
Far  away  from  all  shadow  of  fear  ! 

Oh,  happy  the  soul  that  reposes  so  lightly 
On  the  bosom  of  temporal  things  ; 

At  danger's  approach  it  can  soar  away  brightly, 
Above,  on  ethereal  wings  ! 

COLUMBIA,  PA., 

6  mo.  1828. 


23 


TO  A  MAJESTIC   TREE 
Alia  dolce  ombra  de  le  belle  frondi 

I 
Tall  tree  !  thou  hast  given  a  pleasant  shade 

For  many  a  warm  and  weary  hour 
To  the  lowly  roof  and  the  cottage  bower, 
And  oft  at  eve  thou  hast  whispered  o'er 
The  laborer  resting  beside  his  door : 
Now  cottage  and  laborer  low  are  laid 
And  yet  thou  dost   not  fade. 

ii 
Oh,  many  an  eve,  o'er  the  smooth  green  plain, 

Have  the  rustic  girl  and  the  village  boy 
Danced  with  the  airy  steps  of  joy, 


TO   A   MAJESTIC   TREE 

While  thy  leafy  limbs  have  o'er  them  swung 
As  their  song,  or  louder  laughter,  rung  : 
No  trace  of  the  revel  or  song  remain, — 
Thy  leaves  will  dance  again. 

in 
Lofty  and  lonely  thou  meet'st  the  sky, 

A  towering  shade  and  a  mark  from  afar 
To  the  traveller,  like  a  landward  star 

Leading  him  on  in  his  pathless  way  ; 
A  shelter,  too,  on  a  stormy   day  : 

The  travellers  sleep  that  have  passed  thee  by, — 

Thou  standest,  still,  on  high. 
COLUMBIA,  PA., 

1824. 


A  MEMORY 

SONG 

I 

I  love  the  flowers,  I  love  the  flowers, 

They  sweetly  breathe  to  me 
The  fragrance  of  deserted  bowers 

I  never  more  may  see. 
I  love  the  flowers,  I  love  the  flowers, 

For  oh,  my  heart  perceives 
The  color  of  its  happiest  hours 

Reflected  on  their  leaves ! 

ii 

I  love  the  flowers,  I  love  the  flowers, 
Thus  falling  to   decay, — 


31 


A   MEMORY 

Too  like  that  cherished  one  of  ours 

Already  passed  away. 
Their  fleeting  tints  and  fragrance  bring 

Fit  emblem  of  her  doom; 
For  when  was  passed  her  day  of  Spring 

She  faded  in  her  bloom. 


'OH,  WAS  IT  IN  A  LAND  OF  DREAMS" 

We  met — we  never  met  before, 

And  yet  thine  eyes  were  known  to  me ; 
And  often  mine  have  rambled  o'er 

Charms  that  belong,  alone,  to  thee. 

It  was  not  in  my  native  clime 
I  could  have  seen  thy  fairy  form, 

For  thou  hast  grown,  since  childhood's  time, 
Among  thy  flowery  valleys  warm. 

Oh,  was  it  in  some  land  of  dreams 
I  wandered  with  a  nymph  like  thee — 

The  fairest — where  ambrosial  streams, 
O'er  sapphires  rolling,  sparkle  free? 


"OH,  WAS   IT   IN   A   LAND   OF   DREAMS" 

Or,  was  it   in  some  former  sphere, 
L,ong  since,   my  errant  spirit  met 

Those  beauties,   that  to  venture  near 
Is  never — never  to  forget  ? 

In  some  sweet  planet,  long  forgot, 
I  loved  thee  well,   I  dare  engage ; 

And  in  another  star,  a  spot 

We'll  find  for  love  some  future  age  1 


3-1 


THE  NAMELESS  STAR 

I  asked  a   Sage  with  hoary  hair, 

With  sunken  cheek  and  hollow  eye, — 

Who  scanned  within  the  midnight  air 
The  courses  of  the  stars  on  high, — 

Why  watched  he  thus  the  weary  night 
And  studied  through  the  live- long  day  ? 

What  guerdon  bright  had  he  in  sight 
For  wasting  thus  his  frame  away? 

He  showed  the  volumes  round  him  strown 
Where  he  the  planets  had  enrolled; 


THE   NAMELESS  STAR 

The  comet's  wandering  path  was  shown, 
And  signs  and  changes  were  foretold. 

"These — these  shall  bring,  in  after  time, 
My  ample  recompense  in   fame  ! " .  .  . 

I  pointed  to  the  blue  sublime, — 

"Yon  little  star, — what  is  its  name?" 

"That?— 'tis  a  small,  inferior  light 

Which  twinkles  by  yon  lustrous  sphere ; 

Men  know  that  distant  planet  bright, — 
The  other  is  not  charted  here." 

And  is  it  so?  and  has  a  world 
For  ages  rolled  its  radiant  car, 


THE  NAMELESS  STAR 

Night  after  night  its  flaine  unfurled, 
And  is  it  still — a  nameless  star? 

Yet  man,   who  shines  one  little  night, 
Would  hear  from  every  lip  his  name, 

Dazzle  the  present  with  his  light, 
And  fill  the  future  with  his  fame ! 


37 


THE   EARLY   DEAD 

i 

Blest  the  dead,  the  early  dead  ! 
Tears  for  them  shall  not  be  shed:  — 
Mercy  gives  a  gentle  doom, 
Leads  them  to  the  sheltering  tomb, 
While  the  sky  of  life  is  bright, 
Ere  the  coming  of  the  night : 
Those  that  linger  long,   shall  know 
Storm  and  darkness,  cold  and  snow ; 
But  secure  in  peaceful  rest, 
Lie  the  early  dead — the  blest  ! 

ii 

From  the  spring-time  fields  they  fled, 
Ere  one  glossy  leaf  was  shed  ; 


ss 


THE   EARLY   DEAD 

While  the  bee  was  on  the  flower, 
While  the  bird  sang  in  the  bower; 
Fragrance  floating  all  around, 
Mingled  with  delicious  sound: — 
Slow  we  see  them  pass  away, 
And  should  mourn  not  their  decay. 
Birds  shall  sing,  and  roses  bloom 
O'er  the  early,  envied  tomb  ! 

in 

Gone !  with  buoyant  hearts  and  young, 
But  to  tones  of  rapture  strung ! 
Ere  the  jarring  notes  of  care 
Mingled  discord  with  despair. 
They  shall  feel  no  powers  decline, 
See  nor  strength  nor  beauty  pine; 


THE   EARLY   DEAD 

Know  not  friends  to  death  depart ; 
Never  mourn  for  treachery's  smart — 
Happy  dead  ! — escaped  from  pain, 
All  must  feel  who   yet  remain ! 

IV 

Better  than  the  best  of  life 

Is  a  respite  from  its  strife. 

Those  who  live  shall  sigh  for  death, 

Draw  in  pain  their  lingering  breath  ; 

But  no  pang  shall  ever  grieve 

Sleep  of  theirs — too  sweet  to  leave! 

When  the  morn  of  life  is  o'er, 

L,ife  has  only  death  in  store ; 

Joy  for  those,  and  triumph  high, — 

Blessed  dead,   who  early  die ! 


40 


LOST  HOURS 

Oil  !  what  shall  recompense  for  years 
Forever  lost  ere  thou  wast  known? 

For  long  contending  hopes  and  fears, 
A  life  of  weariness  alone  ? 

A  captive  slave  in   dungeon- night 
I  lay  till  I  was  found  by  thee ; 

Thy  look  first  blest  my  soul  with  light, 
Thy  voice  first  brought  me  ecstasy ! 

Life  was  not  life  till  thou  didst  give 
A  charm  to  all  the  chains  I  wore, 

And  taught  me  then  the  hope  to  live, 
Whose  only  hope  was  death  before  ! 


41 


LOST   HOURS 

Like  one  who  walks  with  soul  athirst, 
At  noon  o'er  Afric's  burning  waste, 

Unconscious  near  the  fountain-burst 

Whose  freshness  he  would  die  to  taste, 

I  passed  thee  long  unheeded*  by, 
Nor  knew  till  late  that  thou  for  me 

Didst  life  for  lingering  death  supply, 
And  make  it  rapture  but  to  be  ! 


THE   WOODLAND 


''Oh,  whither  will  it  lead  us,  love,  — 
The  way  through  this  sequestered  glade?" 

The  clouds  were  gold  the  hills  above; 

The  breeze  through  wavering  branches  played; 

And  on  we  walked,  still  sure  to  choose 

The  loveliest  path,  when  pathways  crossed,  — 

Though  that  appeared  too  plain  to  lose, 
And  this  too  lovely  to  be  lost. 

"Oh,   swiftly  sinks  the  summer  sun,  — 
Where  will  our  devious  wanderings  lead?" 

But  my  love's  way  and  mine  were  one, 
Its  course  how  little  did  I  heed  ! 


THE   WOODLAND   WALK 

Sweet  sang  the  bird  ;   the   evening  calm 
O'er  fragrant  flowers,   soft-breathing,   stole,- 

But  his  dear  lips  had  richer  balm 
And  sweeter  music  to  my  soul  ! 

Night  lowered  on  our  lonely  path, 

The  woodland  now  grew  dark  and  drear, 

The  storm  came  down   with  dreadful  wrath, 
Yet  what  cared  I  ? — my  love  was  near ! 

"Ah,   beat,  thou  storm!"   I  softly  cried, 

"And  strike,  thou  lightning,  with  thy  dart!" 

For  in  that  hour  I  could  have  died 
With  rapture,  on  my  lover's   heart. 


REVISITED 

I  linger  in  this  lonely  glen 

Where,  Mary,  last  I  strayed  with  thee, 
And  walk  the  spot  I  worshipped  then — 

Why  seerns  it  not  so  bright  to   me? 

The  blossom  breathes'  as  sweet  perfume, 
The  blackbird  now  as  blithely  sings, 

The  wild-rose   bears   as  rich  a  bloom, 
As  glad  the  glittering  torrent  springs: 

Thy  voice  was  sweeter  than  the  bird 
So  wildly  warbling  in  the  tree  ; 

And  must  his  melody  be  heard 

When  I  no  more  may  list  to  thee  ? 


REVISITED 

Thy  cheek  was  brighter  than  the  rose 
Which  golden  summers  make  to  bloom ; 

And  shall  I  mark  its  leaves  unclose 
When  thou  art  folded  in  the  tomb  ! 

The  torrent  with  a  freer  leap 

Than  thine  sprang  not  upon  its  track  ; 
Unfettered  this  its  course  will  keep — 

But  what  will  bring  thy  footsteps  back  ? 

Thy  bounding  form  of  sylph- like  grace, 
A  laugh, — how  musically  wild  ! 

An  angel  intellect  of  face — 
Seraphic,  and  serenely  mild: 

All  these  entranced  me,  Mary,  when, 
As  being  of  a  brighter  birth, 


REVISITED 

Thy  presence  gave  this  lovely  glen 
The  glow  of  Heaven  upon  the  earth. 

As  bright  to  all  the  world  but  me, 
Will  still  be  this  romantic  spot; 

But  how  can  all  this  beauty  be, 
When,  sweetest  Mary,  thou  art  not! 


IN    YOUTH 

When  on  the  Susquehanna's  side 
I  roamed  a  free  and  venturous  boy, 
I  sang  her  scenes  with  patriot  pride, 
My  lyre  was  then  my  hope  and  joy. 
I  had  no  other  thought  of  fame 
Than  that  which  wreathes  a  poet's  name; 
And  tho'  my  song  but  little  showed 
The  fervour  in  my  heart  that   glowed, 

I  felt  at  least  a  poet's  flame. 

#         *         •* .       *         *•         # 
A  playful  fancy  still  her  nest 
Built  in  the  lowly  bower,  my  breast  ; 
And  thence  she  sprang,  on  airy  wing, — 
For  home  so  dark,  how  bright  a  thing  ! 


48 


IN    YOUTH 

She  watched  the  changes  nature  gave,- 
A  wreathing  cloud,  a  curling  wave, 
A  setting  sun,  a  drooping  flower ; 
Thus  musing  many  a  pensive  hour, 
She  found  in  every  changing  mood 
To  life  and  fate,  similitude. 
1824. 


THE  CONJUNCTION  OF  TWO  PLANETS 

Mark,  Marian,  yonder  glorious  star 

That  blazes  in  the  western  sky, 
And  then  that  golden  orb,  afar, 

That  claims  no  less  the  wondering  eye  ; 

But  late  twin  children  of  the  night, 
They  roamed  in  beauty,  side  by  side, 

Out- dazzling  every  other  light, 
Themselves  the^nrmamental  pride. 

For  j^ears  in  their  empyreal  race 

Their  paths  approached — an  hour  were  one — 
Then  crossed,  and  through  the  fields,  of  space 

Must  ever  farther  widening  run : 


50 


THE   CONJUNCTION    OF    TWO   PLANETS 

Full  well  we  know,  who,  e'en  as  they, 
More  near  and  dear  for  years  became, 

Whose  steps  have  parted,  and  who  may 
No  longer  know  a  path  the  same ! 


51 


DEATH 

What  is  it  then  to  die?  Oh,  die  we  never 

Before  Death  strikes  us  down  into  the  tomb? 
The  easiest  end  we  meet  is  when  for  ever 

We  leave  life's  darkness  for  the  softer  gloom 
Of  that  earth- walled,  grass- draperied  little  room 

Where  sorrow  comes  not.  But  to  live  and  know 
The  loss  of  all  the  heart  holds  dear  below, 

To  see  them  meet  th'  inevitable  doom, — 
This  is  the  death  in  life — the  bitterest  woe  ! 


COLUMBIA,  PA., 

1824. 


ON   PRESENTING  A  ROSE 

For  thee  I  placed  upon  my  breast 
This  rose  that  with  the  morning  blushed ; 

Too  closely  to  my  bosom  pressed 
Behold  it, — drooping,  faded,  crushed. 

Ah,  heaven  forbid  !  thou  fairer  flower, 
Thy  fate  in  this  should  imaged  be,— 

To  wither  in  an  evil  hour 

Upon  the  breast  should   shelter  thee  ! 

No— no,  these  faded  rose-leaves  give 
An  emblem  of  my  heart  more  true, — 

Whose  swelling  hopes  have  ceased  to  live — 
And  paled,  long  since,  its  sanguine  hue. 


53 


ON  PRESENTING   A   ROSE 

Then  dash  away  the  drooping  thing 
That  we  no  more  its  blight  may  see  ; 

And  this  crushed  heart  far  from  thee  fling, 
For  it  is  all  unworthy  thee  ! 


54 


TO  A  MINIATURE 

THE   CASE   OF   WHICH    HAD     BEEN   INDENTED   BY 
A   DAGGER 

Fair  image  of  the  fairest  face, 
Worn  nearest  to  thy  lover's  heart, 

'Twas  thine  to  guard  thy  resting  place 
And  turn  aside  the  assassin's  dart. 

Thy  truer  image — thy  pure  life — 

Has  thus  preserved  a  changeless  faith 

Thro'   many  a  scene  of  calm  and  strife, 
And  dangers  deadlier  far  than  death  : 

For  what  could  touch  with  mortal  harm 
The  heart  that  wore  thee  as  its  charm ! 


5.5 


"WHENE'ER  I   THINK  HOW  BRIEF 
THE  TIME" 

SONG 

Whene'er  I  think  how  brief  the  time 
Or  I  must  hasten  far  from  thee, 

No  more,   perhaps,  thy  sunny  clime, 
No  more  thy  sunnier  eyes  to  see  ; 

I  almost  wish  my  colder  home 

Had  fettered  still  my  wandering  feet, 

Nor  left  me  liberty   to  roam, 
Captivity  abroad  to  meet. 

Since  I  have  met  thee  but  to  leave, 
Have  known  thee  only   to  regret, 


56 


"WHENE'ER  i  THINK  HOW  BRIEF  THE  TIME 

Rejoiced  beside  thee — but  to  grieve, 
And  all  but  wish  we  ne'er  had  met, — 

Far  better  thus  I  deem   my  fate — 

Absent  forever  now,  to  be ; 
Than  here  to  live  all  desolate, 

Without  the  hope  of  meeting  thee ! 

ATHENS,  GA. 


57 


"I   THINK   OF  THEE" 

SONG 

I  think  of  thee,   I  think  of  thee, 

When  in  the  east  the  day-spring  flushes, 

For  still  thy  presence  is  to  me 

As  to  the  night  the  morning's  blushes. 

I  think  of  thee,    I  think  of  thee, 

When  western  skies  are  faintly  shining, 

For  in  the  fading  tints  I  see 

My  life,   without  thy  smile,   declining  ! 


TO  A  LADY  SINGING 

SONG 

• 

I 

Oh,   let  me  gaze,  for  I  forget 

When  I  behold  those  heavenly  eyes, 
That  I  am  but  a  mortal  yet, 

And  thou  art  absent  from  the  skies. 
The  radiance  of  a  dreamed-of  world 

Plays  softly  o'er  thy  face  benign, 
And  glories  but  to  sleep  unfurled, 

Serenely  on  thy  features  shine. 

ii 

Oh,  sing  again  !  for  earth  is  passed, 
Its  jarring  notes  unheeded  roll, 


TO    A    LADY    SINGING 


Its  cares  are  all  at  distance   cast, 
And  rapture,   only,    bathes  the  soul ! 

What  tho'   the  past   in  sadness  lower, 
What  tho'   the  future  darker  be? 

Nor  past  nor  future  now  have  power, — 
There  is  but  heaven  in  hearing:  thee  ! 


THE  POET 

The  cloud  that  wreathes  the  setting  sun 
Is  crimsoned  when  his  light  is  done  ; 

The  heart  that  once  is  fired  with  song 
Retains  its  lingering  flushes  long  ! 


81 


"I  COULD  HAVE  BORNE" 

I  could  have  borne  to  hear  thee  sigh, 
To  mark  the  tear  upon  thy  cheek  ; 

The  heart's  bright  tell-tale  in  thine  eye 
Of  softer  griefs  would  seem  to  speak. 

And  once  I  thought  thine  icy  woes 
Might  melt  themselves  in  tears  away, 

As  streams,  at  winter  midnight  froze, 
Will  trickle  at  return  of  day. 

The  frequent  sigh, — that  wandering  glance,- 

-"  •••-;•" 

The  sudden  start, — that  anguished  brow, 
Told  thou  wast  held  in  sorrow's  trance, 
Spoke  much  of  pain, — but  not  till   now,- 


62 


'  I   COULD    HAVE   BORNE ' 

Not  till  thy  sorrow-cheating  smile 
I  saw,  could  I  divine   thy  grief; 

That  said  thy  mirth  was  forced,  the  while 
Thy  heart  was  seared  as  Autumn's  leaf. 

Since  feigned  joy  reveals  the  more 

Thy  griefs,  than  e'en  thy  tears  can  do, 

O  let  thy  sorrows  shade  thee  o'er, 

But  bring  not  smiles  to  prove  them  true  ! 


THE    RIVER 

i 

Wouldst  thou  mark  the  Susquehanna's  course 
Where  't  is  boldest  and  best  to  see  ? 

Then  come  where  it  swells   from   its  mountain 

source 
And  foams  in  its  furious  glee, 

Then  bounds  away  like  a  wild  war-horse 
In  its  strength  exulting  free  ! 

ii 

When  it  sweeps  with   the  wealth  of  its  farthest 

shore 
So  grandly  on  to  the  deep; 


RIVER 


Or  rests  awhile  'neath  the  glancing  oar, 
In  the  mountain  shade  to  sleep  ; 

Or  lingers  slow  by  the  sycamore 
Where  the  island  birches  weep. 

in 
Oh,  come  to  the  Susquehanna   shades 

Ere  the  balmy  Spring  goes  by  ; 
Ere  the  poplar's  tulip-garden  fades 

From   its  breezy  bed  on  high  ; 
And  mark  the  pool  where  the  heron  wades 

And  the  summer-duck  floats  by! 

IV 

Where  the  breath  of   the  clover  fills  the  vale, 
And  the  wild-grape  scents  the  breeze, 


65 


THE;  RIVER 

Where  the  elder- blossom  whitens  the  dale, 
And  the  sweet  birds  in  the  trees, 

With  their  wild- wood  melody  cannot  fail 
The  rudest  heart  to  please. 

v 
Thou  shouldst  come  to  the  Susquehanna  hills 

Or  her  laurels  lose  their  glow; 
Where  the  placid  pools  of  her  mountain  rills 

Mirror  their  roseate  snow ; 
Where  the  rock  its   crystal  stream  distils 

On  the  moss  and  the  fern  below. 

VI 

Thou  shouldst  climb  her  cliffs  to  their  proudest 
peak 


66 


THE  RIVER       . 

And  glance  o'er  the  River  there, 
Or  the  loftiest  woodland  summit  seek, 

And,  spread  in  the  azure  air, 
See  forest,  and  field,  and  spire, — then  speak- 

Does  the  world  hold  aught  more  fair  ? 


COLUMBIA,  PA., 

6  mo.  1828. 


"MY  OWN   FAMILIAR   NAME" 

i 
Oh,  call  me  by  that  name  again, — 

My  own  familiar  name ! 
To  me  more  dear  than  all  the  vain 

Tho'  honoured  sounds  of  fame. 
Far  rather  from  affection's  tongue 

Might  it  salute   mine  ear, 
Than  from  the  throats  of  thousands  rung 

Their  high  triumphal  cheer ! 

ii 
It  brings  me  back  a  former  day, — 

Ah,  would  I  were  the  same ! — 
When  those  who  shared  my  happy  play 

Gave  me  no  other  name. 


It  brings  the  memory  of  an  hour, 

But  cannot  bring  to  me 
The  glow  of  sunshine  and  of  flower, 

The  heart  so   light  and  free. 

in 
Man's  cold  respect  I  since  have  heard 

Enough  my  heart  to  chill; 
But  in  that  frank,  familiar  word 

There's  tone  of  comfort  still. 
Then  speak  that  friendly  name  again 

I   knew  when  but  a  boy ; 
I   hear  it  with  a  pleasant  pain 

That's  dearer  far  than  joy  ! 


REGRET 

How  gladly  oft  would  we  recall 
Breath  that  has  passed  in  idle  words, 
Escaped  like  liberated  birds 
We  never  can  again  enthrall  ! 
And  fewer  still  the  lines  we  pen 
We  do  not  wish   untraced  again ; 
For  let  us  write  our  songs  in  air, 
Or  trace  our  follies  anywhere, 
Soon  all  our  pride  in  them  is  past 
And  we  regret  them  at  the  last ! 


70 


NOTE 

The  portrait  from  which  the  Frontispiece  for 
this  volume  is  taken,  was  painted  in  Paris,  in 
1837,  by  the  Author's  friend  and  fellow -student, 
James  DeVeaux  of  South  Carolina,  who  died  in 
Rome  in  1844,  and  lies  buried  near  the  resting 
place  of  Keats,  and  close  to  the  grave  of  Shelley. 

DeVeaux  was  made  a  member  of  the  National 
Academy  of  Design  in  the  Spring  of  1844,  but 
he  died  without  a  knowledge  of  the  honor  ac- 
corded him. 

This  portrait  of  J.  Houston  Mifflin  is  now  in 
possession  of  his  son,  Mr  Lloyd  Mifflin,  to  whom 
the  Editor's  acknowledgments  are  due  for  per- 
mission to  reproduce  it  here. 

PHILADELPHIA,  PA., 

May,  1900. 


73 


1..JL.IJ. 


Lyrics 


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